Page 38 of Gin and Bear It

He’s blunt but sincere—he’s not telling me to take a breath to shut me up (though that’ll probably do the trick). He genuinely wants me to calm down. I do as he says and sink into my seat. I text my dad, too, and he says he’s heading over.

Jepsen isn’t that big, so we make it to the clinic in minutes. Waylon is already there at the door, his eyes flicking to Ash, then me, then Pip.

“Thank you for this,” I say.

“It’s no problem.” He holds open the door and frowns when Pip meows.

We go into an exam room, and I put the carrier on the table. Waylon murmurs soothing words to Pip as he takes the top off the carrier. He stays in a crouched position, ears pointed back but not pinned.

Pip looks rough, covered in dust.

“So what happened?” Waylon asks, lightly running his hands along Pip’s back.

“Some ceiling crashed down on top of him.” I swallow and watch as he carefully lifts Pip. Ash takes the carrier and puts it on the floor. “He just sat there and his meow sounded weird, so I wanted to get him checked.”

“He does sound weird but I’m not sure why that would be a result of this.” He frowns and checks Pip’s teeth. His frown only deepens. “Did you know he lost a tooth?”

“From this?”

“It doesn’t look that inflamed, so probably not.” He turns Pip, narrowly missing a swipe from his paw, then pauses. “Jada, this isn’t Pip.”

“What do you mean? He was in my apartment.”

Waylon manages to pick up Pip without him scratching his face off.

“I’m one hundred percent sure I neutered Pip and generally these don’t grow back.” He turns the cat and pushes the fur around his butt back, revealing two little white balls standing out among his black fur.

All three of us stare at each other, then at the cat’s very prominent balls. My phone’s ring pings through the silence—it’s my dad.

Dad: ??? Pip is still here

He sends a picture of Pip curled up in a loaf on the floor near the wreckage. He couldn’t look more calm if he tried. I blink, then show Ash and Waylon that Pip is okay.

“Oh my god.” I press my hand to the back of my neck. “Then whose cat is this? Where did he come from? He looks exactly like him.”

I look between my phone lock screen and the cat in front of me, whose ears are still pointed back in annoyance. They have the same tuxedo markings. Even the same paws are white. It’s like someone hit copy/paste on my damn cat.

“You said he was just there and the ceiling crashed in on him?” Waylon asks.

“He has to have crashed through the ceiling,” Ash says. “How else would he have gotten in?”

“He was just living in the ceiling?” I stare at the picture of Pip again. Dad texts more question marks and I text him a picture of the mystery cat, along with a message that I’ll call him back.

“Maybe there’s a hole from outside to inside? I guess he could climb up one of the trees nearby and make it in if he was determined enough.” Waylon takes his hand off the cat, whose tail is flicking violently. “He looks pretty well-fed. Aside from his eye, which looks a bit irritated, he looks like he’s been taken care of. Maybe someone left him some food somewhere. Let me check if he has a microchip, even though I’ve never seen him before. We can treat him and take him to the shelter since he seems somewhat socialized.”

The cat leaps off the table and rushes over to the corner, crouching in a small ball and eyeing all of us. I don’t blame him. Then again, if I crashed through a ceiling, got shoved in a box, and was dragged to some place that smelled like other animals, I would have come out swinging hard.

“Okay.” I blow out a breath. “Thanks, Waylon. This is so fucking weird.”

“At least it’s a funny kind of weird. Except for your ceiling.” Waylon half smiles, going into a cabinet and grabbing a tube treat. The cat perks up right away, his ears pointing forward again. He stays in the corner, though. “You need help with that? I can swing by after work.”

“I’ve got it,” Ash says, to my surprise. Waylon’s eyebrows go up in surprise, too. “What, part of our ceiling crashes in and you expect me to just let Jada handle it all on her own?”

Right. We’re married. I guess the cat crashing through the wall is monumental enough for me to forget that. But Ash saying “our ceiling” is like dumping ice water down the back of my neck.

The ceiling crashed over the couch. There’s not a chance Ash can sleep on it.

My apartment isn’t so big that I could put down an air mattress, especially if they’re doing construction on that spot of the room.